


Stains

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age One Shots [16]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, F/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Smut, passionate smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 15:11:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14167623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: Some things have changed, some things have stayed the same. But as she stands on the edge of the cliff, she wonders what will change, when she leaves him.





	Stains

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @ladylilac on tumblr, who is super nice and is a talented artist. If you have a tumblr I recommend you follow her!

Things changed, as time went on. Laugh lines around his eyes became more pronounced, while lines engraved from her own hardships became more apparent. Inward things changed as well. Perhaps it was odd that as he learned to let himself be loved, she retreated into a shell, though the people she closed herself away from weren’t him. Never him.

Yet however small, it was nice to know that some things never changed. Even if it was a silly thing, it was nice to know. Comforting, like the tube of lipstick she carried in her pocket.

Red lips, crimson colored and vibrant against her fair skin had always been the constant thing in her life, and the one thing she always indulged in. Even when they lived with Gamlen and they struggled to even put food on the table, Maéva put a bit of money away to have her crimson lips. Even now, on the run with him, she kept a few spare tubes of lipstick. It was her signature, Isabela told her once, and Varric tucked in the idiosyncrasy in The Tale of the Champion along with so many others. She couldn’t not have her signature or her small idiosyncrasy. Besides, there were so many memories with it. The first night Maéva and Fenris were together, her lips left stains on the skin between his tattoos, making red marks. She gave him her favor after, her red scarf, and he said that it reminded him of her lips and the things that they could do to him. They were so young back then, sharing their first night together. They made sure to make up for all the times he wasn’t there, and she was alone in her room, wishing to stain him.

Yes, some things never changed. :ike her silly red lipstick and the marks it made on her lover, marks different from his lyrium tattoos because they were marks and stains of her love. Yet not everything could stay the same in her life. Some things happened in cycles.

And now, instead of him whispering _I’m sorry, all I wanted was to be happy,_ and leaving her, she was standing on a cliff’s edge, trying to find a way to tell him that she would have to leave him.

He was the one that kept her from the conclave. Varric too. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t grateful for that. Yet back then they never suspected Corypheus, not after everything that they went through to make sure he wasn’t breathing at the end of their encounter. Something burned inside of her when she read Varric’s letter the previous day, something that didn’t stop. She knew it then. She had to go. She tried to find a way to tell him ever since.

Running, running. That was another thing that stayed the same in her life. She always ran. In the months that followed the battle of Kirkwall she ran away from the city, Fenris running with her. Standing in the aftermath of battle, he promised he would run anywhere with her. So run they did, out of the city through the Free Marches. So many places. The forest, the city, now to Lindvale, by the sea. They were there for a while, and that’s where Varric knew the two of them were. Perhaps if they ran again she wouldn’t have received his letter, but Maéva was tired of running. The sea too was welcome, along with the salty air and wind that made her strands of long, raven black hair dance. They made a camp on the beach the day she received the letter, and that night in the tent the waves lulled Fenris to sleep. They lapped onto the shore in tandem with her beating heart. They didn’t make love that night. Part of her wished they did. She would have held onto it, made it last. One last night, where he made love and lost himself in her body without knowing he would have to let her go. If she had that to hold, she could have run swiftly toward the Inquisition. How swiftly could she run now?

They watched the sunset in a comfortable silence, Maéva knowing he sensed her melancholy. It wasn’t unusual for her to be melancholic. It came in waves. Sometimes the tides were low and soft, mimicking the ebb and flow of the waters they stared at together as night beckoned a new day was on the horizon. Other times her melancholy took on a violent storm. There was no mercy in those moments. Yet in all of them, Fenris was always there, holding her hand, stroking her hair, kissing her. And as his fingers wove through her hair, her back against his front, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and her secret spilled forth. The Inquisition needed her.

She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel him tense. “Cruel,” he murmured simply, holding her closer and resting his chin on her shoulder. “You cannot go through this. Not again. I will not allow it.”

“Corypheus is my responsibility,” she said.

She felt him shake his head. “Ours.”

She had to tell him now, didn’t she? To him it was already a given he would go with her. He could not see a world where he would not go with her.

She told him.

The gentle motions of his fingers weaving through her hair ceased. Slowly Maéva turned around, hoping she would look into his eyes and see that he understood. Yet when she looked, she wasn’t sure what she saw in his sad green eyes. Was it pain? A deep anguish? Anger? Everything?

“I can’t lose you,” she said, imploring him to see her reasoning. “I won’t lose you.”

“And what of me? What if I lose you?”

She couldn’t answer that.

The waves crashed, no longer a gentle ebb against the shore. If there were spirits of the sea, and perhaps there were, they must have sensed the growing storm within the rain that began between the two of them. Soft pattering, yet incessant. Melancholic.

She grabbed his hand, brought it to her beating heart. “Trust me,” she beseeched him. “Fenris, I—"

“I do trust you,” he insisted. “More than anything. Anyone. That’s why—"

“What?” She cupped his face in her hands. “What?”

“I thought this would be the end. We would be happy.”

“We will be,” she said, “I promise. After this is over. We will be happy together.”

“We can be happy now. Take me with you.”

She clenched her eyes shut. Looking at him—it would be too much. “I can’t,” she said, her voice cracking. “Fenris I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I will not have you die. I cannot watch you die.”

He didn’t respond.

She sighed, taking his hand. The red scarf was tied snugly on his wrist. She kissed him there, kissed his palm. He purred her name, part in adoration for what she was doing, but mostly because he still sat at the edge of the cliff, begging her not to fall into the water and drift away from him.

“Do you not trust me?” she asked him suddenly.

Just as swift came his response. “Of course I trust you,”

“And I am asking you to trust me now. I have to do this by myself. I know you. You would kill yourself to protect me. And if something happened to you because of me…”

“I told you. Nothing is going to keep me from you.”

“But we don’t know what will happen when I leave.”

“Don’t.”

She wanted to agree with him, say she wouldn’t go. So much. She wanted to do what she had always done, run.

She knew she couldn’t.

“No,” she said. “I’ve run all my life. I cannot run from this, not when I know I can help.”

“Look what they’ve done to you. Look at what they’ve taken from you.”

His words cut her deeper than any blade. The Blight took away Bethany. The Grey Wardens took away Carver. Her mother was taken away, and it all finished with a crescendo with the battle of Kirkwall, taking away everything. Yet what remained unsaid and unknown was what would be taken from her if she went to the Inquisition. So help her, it would not be Fenris. It was the one thing she would never, ever allow.

She looked into his eyes, still afraid of what she would see, but not wanting to be a coward any longer. She saw understanding, yet a heart that was still shattering. Like it shattered that night he left her. Fate, circumstance, and his own self did the shattering that night. This time, it was all her. She would take the blame. She would do it, because she couldn’t protect Bethany, or Carver, or her mother. But she could protect Fenris.

He nodded, though he still did not fully accept. Merely, he nodded because he knew and understood. It was one of the many reasons she loved him.

They gravitated towards each other, his lips ghosting over her hers in not quite kisses. She breathed in his scent, the smell of leather mingled with the salty sea air that clung to him, all underlain with the subtle smell of steely lyrium that was so cruelly engraved into his skin. It didn’t hit her that this could be their last time, at least for a little while. It was like any other time she was with him at first, times when their differences didn’t matter and their hearts beat together. He could always do that to her. Yet when she heard him whisper it, his desperate, imploring, come back, she remembered.

Silent tears she didn’t know she had streamed down her cheeks. “I’ll come back,” she murmured. “No matter what it takes, I will come back. That thing will not have me.”

“Do you promise?”

He wiped the tears away. “Do you trust me?” she asked.

“You know. More than anything.”

“Then you know the answer. I will. I will.”

“I—”

Words of reassurances he wanted her to give him turned into reassuring kisses. Perhaps even more so they were more fitting than words. They learned how to love, trust, and listen to each other with time, but before it wasn’t always like that, so seamless. Their rocky start lent itself to words being fruitless sometimes, and during their first night together, they learned that their actions could say more than words ever could. The way they touched and made love to each other succeeded where words were meaningless. Making love, that was were everything melted away, save for raw want and need. Passion. When everything else was stripped away save skin, lust and desire, that was when the truth became revealed.

He was her truth. Her love for him, more tangible than her magic, stronger than the waves that crashed against the shore. It was another constant she realized. No matter what happened in the Inquisition, he would always be her truth.

Time and togetherness made them attuned to each other’s feelings, and their wants. Simultaneously the want and the need for each other coiled, so they migrated from the harsh wind outside to the comfort of their tent. Would it be how he wished her farewell? To make love to her while the waves lapped onto the shore? She wanted it to be happy and joyous, wanted him to love and worship her the way he usually did. She didn’t want their last time, at least for a little while, she had to remind herself, to be awash in sorrow and regret. She hoped for soft kisses and murmurs of love like during their times of playful ardor together. She wanted passion and forgetfulness. Fenris gave her something else.

Passion was still there, but when Maéva helped him remove her clothes, his own tunic and breeches falling in the same pile, there was a notion of the here and now. Nothing else mattered save what was happening between them now. There was no past, present, nor future. Only this night. It was the only night of his existence. For her, it was the only night she would ever hold onto. All the others, they would blur together into one singular day. She would commit every step of the night to her memory, so she may relive every step. No matter what the Inquisition took away, it would not take away her moments with him. It would not take him away.

They laid on their sides, no clothes separating their naked skins. The only thing he wore was her red scarf. He slowly skimmed his hand down the line of her body, gripping her hips, her thigh, everything. He cupped her cheek in his hand, caressed her. Her world was the green of his eyes staring into hers. It shifted when he inched closer, changing to a whirling of gentle presses of his lips on every part of her skin he could reach. He kissed her, and she opened her eyes. There it was, that familiar residue of red on his lips he often received when their lips met. It made her giggle. He was marked by her kisses.

She rotated the two of them, so she may kiss a line down body, and love him the way he always deserved. It was selfish too, she knew that, but she needed to allow every dip and sinew of his body to burn in her memory. She needed to remember so she may play the memory in her mind, when she was far from him. His tattoos glowed faintly in the darkness. She littered every part of his skin with her lips, leaving marks of red here and there. She stained him, mirroring what he had done to her. His love stained her, changed her, and no matter where she would go, she would cling to that. It would be the only thing that made her Maéva.

“Is this…your goodbye?”

She looked at him, her ministrations temporarily stopping. “No,” she said. “It’s my I love you.”

His I love you too was laying her back down, sliding inside her. He remained like that for a while, neither moving nor kissing, only gazing into her eyes, before his fingers drew circles at her clit. She came with him still inside, and it was only with the last ebb of her orgasm did he begin to move. She threw a calf over his shoulder, deepening their connection. He felt good and familiar. He felt like home.

Home.

Where would she have home, when she was away from him?

He grasped her hips. “Maéva..”

“Fenris….”

“Stay.”

Tears stung her eyes, tears she wiped away. “I can’t.”

“You can.”

“I will not run.”

He closed his eyes, stopping his movements temporarily to rest his body atop hers. When still he did not move, she held him, kissed his forehead.

“I’ll come back,” she promised. “If I have to tell you a thousand times, I will. I will come back.”

“One more day.”

One more day would turn into two more days. Then another two. “Fenris, I—”

Waves of sorrow were engrained in his eyes. “I know.”

“The same stars,” she muttered. “The same sun. We’ll be under the same sky.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He made those last few moments last. He made her come again and she saw the world alter, saw the life they would live together after. No more running. She would be free. They would be free.

Stains. They were everywhere on her and him. They stained each other with marks and kisses, and she hoped that when she was far from him, they all could see how she loved, and who she loved.She would not lose that love, not allow the stain to fade.

The morning came. She couldn’t remember sleeping, just laying with him, listening to his heart and watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. But cruelly the morning came, and never did she hate the sun more. It would have been easy and cowardly to leave him before he woke. Goodbyes were always too difficult for her. He didn’t deserve that. So she waited.

There were no words in the morning when he woke, only kisses. His body was still stained, here and there with red. Soon they would fade. But they marked deeper than the skin, she knew the stains marked into his soul, to always remain. No matter what happened.

“Don’t leave,” he begged, after their final kiss. She couldn’t kiss him again after. One kiss and she would do anything he asked. So she squeezed his hand, told him she carried his kisses like stains that burned to her very core. They made her stronger.

He watched her go. She felt his eyes on her still as she left for Ferelden, back home. Yet it wasn’t home, was it? Not without Fenris.

She went about the motions of duty.The vibrant crimson of her lips faded, and she could not renew it. She left the rest of it with him. Maybe he toyed with the various tubes she left behind in his fingers, the silly thing bringing him comfort. It brought her comfort to think about home a lot, and how the stains of him didn’t fade.

All her life she ran. She wouldn’t run from the Inquisition.

When it was over, she wouldn’t run back to Fenris. She would swiftly walk into her future with him. And she would never look back.


End file.
